


Men Like Us

by hotterhatter2211



Category: Walking Dead (Comics), Walking Dead (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Claimer!Daryl, M/M, The Claimers - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-05-05
Updated: 2015-10-19
Packaged: 2018-01-22 02:38:42
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 7
Words: 12,865
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1573064
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hotterhatter2211/pseuds/hotterhatter2211
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Daryl had lost his brother in Atlanta. In an attempt to find him he joins a group that call themselves 'The Claimers'. At first he is hesitant to go along with their ways, but in the end decides it is the only way to survive. The apocalypse does bring out the worst in people after all.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> Hello all you lovely people! I have recently gotten a rather large plot bunny roaming in my head. Because of this, I decided to write this fic. I am thinking it will last around 15-20 chapters by the time it is done! I do hope you all enjoy it!
> 
> RATING: THERE WILL BE TRIGGERS IN THIS STORY. THIS INCLUDES MENTIONS OF RAPE, BLOOD, AND POSSIBLY MORE.
> 
> PAIRING: Daryl/Rick
> 
> SETTING: This will take place AFTER season 3 but BEFORE season 4b.
> 
> SUMMARY: Daryl had lost his brother in Atlanta. In an attempt to find him he joins a group that call themselves 'The Claimers'. At first he is hesitant to go along with there ways, but in the end decides it is the only way to survive. The apocalypse does bring out the worst in people after all.

Daryl couldn't say that he enjoyed being with the group. They all had their issues. He just needed a way to survive the world they lived in now. It was his instinct to latch onto someone that appeared to show leadership skills. This is how he ended up with Joe and the Claimers.

It was a rough start to begin with. He had lashed out to everyone in the group. Hell, he was in a fist fight with Len every chance he got. Len even had the audacity to mention his brother at one point. That ended up with Len having a broken nose and a cracked rib.

Still, he continues to journey along with them. It was a way to try and find Merle. In the beginning when shit hit the fan, he had lost sight of his brother. They had been separated in Atlanta, leaving him detached from everyone else. At the time, he didn't have any idea what to do. He tried to figure out where Merle would have run off to.

That was how he met Joe. They encountered each other in a run-in when Daryl had gone into the home of one of Merle's old druggie friends. His "dealer," as Merle would try and argue. He had opened the door, bow raised as to ensure there had been no dead men walking around. His finger had been on the trigger, just when Harley had slammed the door open. It took only a second for him to be surrounded. At first he was ready to fire, only to have Joe gave him a wide grin as if he found him funny. It only took Daryl a second to lower the weapon to the floor.

Daryl had appeared to follow Joe only for the leadership quality he had shown. The man had an aura about him that screamed for people to listen to him. Daryl didn't like to admit it, but it reminded him of his old man. He appeared to care but then other moments he didn't. Daryl didn't mind at first. He had shrugged off the feeling the group gave him of unease. Merle had stuck by worse before all this happened.

The first time they had come along a limited group of survivors, it was a total of 6 people. One kid. Two women. Three men.

Daryl can still remember their faces, the look of sheer horror on each woman and child as the men were stabbed, each by the head of an arrow plunged right through their skulls. Daryl knew his own face probably contorted to the same look when Dan grabbed the kid, stating "claim" as if he were an object to be won. He couldn't hold back his feelings, almost jumping on the man and stabbing him then and there.

Daryl turned his own weapon around, pointing it towards Joe. He remembers screaming till his throat went hoarse. The anger he felt for this group was more than the anger he held toward his own father. He remembers the look of indifference Joe had on his face.

"He marked his claim."

The words would always echo through Daryl's head. He stormed off after that, not being able to rid himself of the cries the kid screamed. His body told him to run from the group, to get away and never come back to their horrors. Yet he knew if he left, he was as good as dead.

So he stayed. The sickness he had felt towards staying with them had caused him to leave on multiple different occasions. If he wasn't trying to survive this, he would have beaten the shit out of all of them. It wasn't just Dan who caused the problems. Billy liked small blond women. Tony enjoyed the spunk of the ones that never gave up fighting. Len also seemed to have his preferences.

Just thinking about it made Daryl want to hurl. The only one that didn't seem to stake claims were Joe. Joe always seemed to be the one that was the head honcho, but didn't feel any sexual drive for any of them. Instead, he enjoyed cutting open the men as if they were carcasses for science students to dissect.

Daryl remembers the first living, breathing person's life he took. They had come across a young girl in the woods. He could already feel the disgust forming in his stomach from the look Dan was giving her. He stepped forward, the words pushing out of his mouth before any of them could say it.

"Claimed."

He hated himself once the words had left his lips. He can hear the others whistling and hollering as if they were proud of him. Instead of focusing on the men, he turns his full attention to the girl. She looked nervous having large men calling out like that.

The sound of her voice had been frantic. She spoke of trying to find her mother. Daryl kneels down next to her. His eyes look at her with guilt as he pulls out his knife. That appears to silence the group behind them. "Ya got a name?" His words were rough and distraught.

It was either he lets the filthy men have her or… Put her down before their hands could get anywhere near her.

"S-Sophia. P-Please mister! I just want my mommy." The kid held tightly to a torn up doll in her hands. Daryl gave her a small broken smile with a shake of his head.

"I am sorry kid. Ya deserve better 'an meetin' us in the woods." He can still remember the look of shock that her eyes had shown as he plunged his knife into her heart. His arms had wrapped around her, waiting for her to completely bleed out as if she were an animal ready for slaughter. His body had been shaking the entire time. He can barely remember laying her down on the ground. He placed a flower, a Cherokee Rose, on her lifeless corpse.

After that, Daryl did the same thing every time he could. His hands were full of blood from the children and women he had killed. It was either him saving them from the horrors of his group, or letting worse happen to them. It had caused more conflict in the group; however none of them went against his words.

Joe had made sure of that. After all, they had their rules. His claims grow in number with each family they found. He would always try and claim the children first. He would always try and show the parents that not everyone were as awful as they thought. His mind starting to go numb at the screams of the innocent people he killed. He would try and save everyone he could. Even if it meant him becoming one of the worst scum left in this world.


	2. Make You Suffer

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He goes to exit of the room, only to hear a low squeak. The noise was barely detectable, but Daryl having hunted most of his life caused his eyes to narrow. The wind wouldn’t have caused such a noise, making it even more suspicious.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1st Chapter is now up! I really had fun with this one. It is still moving a bit slower than I had planned, but I like build up a lot so... XD
> 
> RATING: THERE WILL BE TRIGGERS IN THIS STORY. THIS INCLUDES MENTIONS OF RAPE, BLOOD, AND POSSIBLY MORE.
> 
> PAIRING: Daryl/Rick
> 
> SETTING: This will take place AFTER season 3 but BEFORE season 4b.
> 
> SUMMARY: Daryl had lost his brother in Atlanta. In an attempt to find him he joins a group that call themselves 'The Claimers'. At first he is hesitant to go along with there ways, but in the end decides it is the only way to survive. The apocalypse does bring out the worst in people after all.

The group had been traveling for months now. The amount of food they could find dwindling. Even hunts were getting unbearable. Daryl swore he was going to shove an arrow through Len's eye. The man always seemed to always want to piss him off. The others always stand clear when he was on edge. Len seemed to just laugh, ignoring his anger.

"Daryl." Joe calls out to him, motioning to come speak to him. Daryl holds back a curse from behind his lips. Instead he walks forward, getting a pat on the back from Joe. He resists the urge to break his arm in the processes.

"How have you been? You haven't been sitting with the group lately." Joe states as they continue to walk the path, the road leading them through. "You know I don't like that." He adds on as an afterthought.

Daryl knew it was a ploy to get him to feel guilty or something. He ignores the looks from the man, shifting his bow with his strap. "I jus' needed some space. Ya know me an' the others have clashin' ideals." His hands clenching tighter on the strap.

Joe lets out a frustrated sigh, "That shouldn't keep you from talking with them. It didn't stop you before. This all started when that little gi-."

"Don't." Daryl stopped walking as his body stiffened. "Don't mention her. She ain't here no more. It don't matter." His tone turns cold, angered by the man's words.

The man brings a hand up to rub his head, "Fine. I won't mention it. Just eat with us during the next meal." He doesn't give him any room for argument.

Daryl doesn't even respond as his legs propel him forward past the man. He really hates it when people force him to do things. Yet, he couldn't go against Joe. He was one of the few reasons Daryl was still in the group. He may be crazy and an annoyance, but he acted more in control than both his father and Merle. That was a quality that Daryl had grown fond of over the years.

The rest of the walk was silent with only a few mocking comments from Len. It wasn't long until they came along a two-story house. Joe motions for the others to head to the direction of the home. Daryl already takes out his tattered crossbow. He doesn't wait for the others, hearing Billy make a sarcastic comment about a 'lone wolf pack'.

Daryl curses under his breath as he pushes the door open. His bow raises as he pushes the door open. He hears a few creaks behind him telling him the others were following after. Their loud voices carry through the house causing any walkers to come out with their presence. Had he been alone it would have been easier just to go at it alone.

His feet move lightly as he steps onto the stairs. The others could deal with anything else downstairs. The movements cause the steps to creak loudly with each step. He makes it to the first door pushing it open to find a teens room from the looks of it. Posters are plastered along the wall. He lowers his weapon slightly as the stench filters through the room. A decomposing corpse lies on the bed, a gun in one hand. He reaches, out grasping the small glock from the dead teen's hands. The only indication that he felt remorse for the dead was a small frown on his lips. He pushes the gun into his belt loop.

He turns back around, walking to the next door. He does this with every room until he stops at the last one. The men downstairs breaking something, making him turn momentarily, aiming at the stairs. After standing there, hearing a ring of laughter, he rolls his eyes. He turns back towards the final room.

The door opens with a creak, his bow still aimed up in case something happens. His crossbow being held steady in his other hand as he uses his leg to open it the rest of the way.

Nothing.

A window had been opened on one end of the room, a closet next to a desk, and a bed just to the right. He lowers the bow, letting out a sigh of relief. It looked like they weren't going to be having any trouble today.

He goes to exit of the room, only to hear a low squeak. The noise was barely detectable, but Daryl having hunted most of his life caused his eyes to narrow. The wind wouldn't have caused such a noise, making it even more suspicious.

He re-enters the room as his eyes dart to see what could have caused the noise. A small movement catches his attention just under the bed. Dainty, thin fingers were quickly hidden back under the bed. A woman. He grasps his bow, readying it to aim.

He moves to stand right next to the bed. He moves his hand about to reach down before loud footsteps echoed up the stairs.

"Daryl!" Len calls as he walks into the room he stood in. "What the hell are you doing in here. We don't have time just to do nothing."

"I am cleanin' out the house. If ya weren't blind ya would know that." He lowers his crossbow. He couldn't just let the man know about the woman. It would only cause more conflict in the group.

Len gets a smirk as he can already tell he is annoying Daryl. "Well you're takin' too long. The others are already gettin' comfy down stairs."

Daryl glares back at the man, placing his bow on the bed and taking a seat. "I claim in here." He snaps to him. Hoping the woman under the bed wouldn't make any more noises. If she were to even make the smallest sound if would make it so he couldn't try and let her live. "The bed is somethin' I wanna sleep in."

Len in turn raises an eyebrow, "You starting to have a kid fetish now?" The room itself had to have been a teen's room just like the last, with just as many band posters hanging on the walls as the first. "An' here I thought Dan was the one that liked kids."

"Get the fuck out o' here. I told ya, I claimed it." He growls out, chucking a pencil holder that had been on the desk next to the bed. "I don' wanna see your fuckin' ugly face here no more."

The man lets out a grunt in responses, dodging the holder. He looks like he wants to continue to argue, but exits the room, slamming the door shut in the process. Daryl listens to the footsteps heading towards a different room. He releases a breath he hadn't realized he had been holding.

He stays on the bed silently listening for any of the others would come up. He lets a minute pass, before speaking up. "Ya know. If you're gonna hide, make sure ya don' move around so much. Ya are like an elephant in a china shop." He comments, guessing the woman wouldn't respond. He does hear her let out a noise of fear.

"Yer lucky. I don't seem too keen on doin' nothin' to a woman." He can feel his eyes darken at his memories of the group. "I also don' suggest ya try runnin' away until we leave. Ya get caught, an' I won't be helpin' you no more." He swears this is the most he had spoken in weeks.

He allows silence to fill the room again. He turns on the bed laying down on it completely. A few more minutes pass before the woman speaks up from her hiding place. "What gave me away?" her voice is hoarse, probably from the accelerated heart rate of a large group of men coming in.

Daryl lets out a humorless chuckle, "Yer loud. Movin' around too much made the boards creak." He pauses, "Ta be fair, I have a good sense o' hearin'." He remembers Merle always calling him part bloodhound when they were younger. "Ya gonna come out any time soon?"

The woman crawls out from under the bed. She seems lanky for someone who had survived this long. Her short gray hair contrasting to what he would have expected. Her brow was covered in sweat from the fear of getting caught. When she finally stands to her full height, a knife in her hand, she eyes him. "You going to yell for your buddies downstairs." Her voice sounds accusing.

Daryl lets his eyes roll, not appearing affected by her raised weapon. "Do I look like I am? An' here I jus' helped ya stay hidden from the asshole. Ya should be thankin' me right now."

The woman raises an eyebrow, still giving him a look of distrust. "Thank you." The words were stiff and gave no indication of gratitude. She does manage to keep her voice down, which is nice. At least she wasn't completely stupid.

She looks like she wants to say more, but gets interrupted by a voice downstairs. "Daryl! We got food." A yell up the stairs causes them both to jump.

"Comin'!" He yells back down, never allowing his eyes to trail away from the woman. "The closet is a better place fer hidin'. Can attack if one o' them if they come in too. Gets ya more attack power behind yer swing if ya use a knife." He doesn't say anything else as he stands up, grabbing onto his crossbow, and pushes past the woman towards the door. "Ya run right now you'll cause too much noise. Plus it is getting' late. Ya don' wanna be runnin' in the dark. Stay hidden till mornin' if ya want." And with that the man exits the room.

He walks down the stairs, his mind staying with the woman. She couldn't have survived this long on her own. It was impossible to live without people now. So, there were probably others. He enters the room where the others were. He reaches forward, grabbing one of the cans left over. It appeared the only thing left had been some dog food. He can already hear the snickering coming from Len in the corner. He lets out a scoff already hating the idea of staying with the group to eat. They still managed to piss him off.

He grumbles out before turning around to head back up the stairs. He still had some left over jerky the others didn't know about anyways. "Daryl." A voice commands him to stop. "Remember what we said before." He motions to the seat next to him.

Daryl glares at the ground, but does as the man asked. He sets the can down, having no intentions of eating it either way. He would much rather hunt. He furrows his brow together as his mind jumps back to the woman who appeared to still be upstairs unless she had already snuck out. If she were as smart as he believed she could be, she would have listened to his advice.

"What the hell are you thinking about?" Joe breaks him out of his train of thoughts. "I haven't seen you thinking that hard since I first met you." It was meant as a joke at Daryl's expense.

Daryl just gives him a grunt. "Jus' wonderin' about stuff." He shrugs his shoulders, feeling the eyes of the group crawling on him.

Joe responds with a small nod of his own. "I get it. You always did seem like that kind of man. Don't worry. Those kids probably deserved it. No reason to be thinking anyone is innocent now."

That kind of man…? Daryl gets a small look of confusion on his face, but manages to mask it completely. What the hell did Joe mean by that? He wasn't whatever the hell he had insinuated. Daryl just stays silent letting the man speak.

Joe doesn't even seem to realize when Daryl stops listening to his words. Not even thirty minutes had past when He stood up again. "I am headin' to bed." He informs Joe grumbling. He grasps the can of dog food and makes his way up the stairs.

"Don't dwell on it too much!" Joe states again, as if he completely understood Daryl.

Daryl arrives back at the room he had been in. His eyes move around the room to see if the woman was still there. Nothing seemed misplaced. The woman must have ignored his warnings. Whatever. Didn't matter anyway. He lies back on the bed after shutting the door. He places the can of dog food on the desk.

"That dog food any good?" The woman questions in a sarcastic voice. Daryl turns quickly, seeing her not where he thought she would be. Instead she had placed herself just behind his door, sitting there waiting.

He gives her a small grin. "If ya like some shit like tuna."

She returns with a grin of her own. "I have had worse."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I knoooow. Still no Rick. No worries! He should be coming in either in the next chapter or at the begging of the one after that.
> 
> Song: The Devil Within by Digital Daggers


	3. A Soldier On My Own

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There was an audible click of the safety of the gun. A threat in and of it’s own. “If you so much as think of turning around, you will get a bullet in your head.” The man commands calmly, yet cold as ice.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> RATING: THERE WILL BE TRIGGERS IN THIS STORY. THIS INCLUDES MENTIONS OF RAPE, BLOOD, AND POSSIBLY MORE.
> 
> PAIRING: Daryl/Rick
> 
> SETTING: This will take place AFTER season 3 but BEFORE season 4b.
> 
> SUMMARY: Daryl had lost his brother in Atlanta. In an attempt to find him he joins a group that call themselves 'The Claimers'. At first he is hesitant to go along with there ways, but in the end decides it is the only way to survive. The apocalypse does bring out the worst in people after all.

Daryl was getting annoyed. The woman he had helped didn’t even seem to realize this as she continues to speak. Her idle chatter making him agitated within a very short time. Even his glare didn’t seem to stop her words. It had been an hour since he had returned the others downstairs already saying they were going to sleep. 

Joe was going to be on watch until Lou got back from scavenging the nearby homes. Lou always had a tendency to go off on his own to find whatever the hell he could. Daryl was sure he was mostly searching for any kind of drugs he could. He had noticed the small prickly markings on the man’s arm, making Daryl assume he had at least found something recently.

Daryl would have gone with him just to call him out on it, he instead was babysitting the woman in the room with him. 

“Will ya shut the fuck up?!” Daryl finally snaps getting at the end of his rope. He had listened to her drone on long enough.

The woman just gives him a tautly glare back, “I was just trying to strike up conversation.”

“I really don’ care. Your voice is jus’ annoyin’ the hell out o’ me.” Daryl mutters, leaning his head back against the wall behind him. His bow was still at his side much like it always is. She had after all been pestering for him for his name for a good half an hour. She had already stated her name was ‘Carol’, not that Daryl cared much at all.  
“I just… I want understand you.” The woman tells him. 

Daryl rolls his eyes, “Nothin’ much to understand. I ain’t gonna tell ya shit now go into the closet an sleep.”

Carol sighs, but does stand up making her way over to the closet to stay hidden. “I just want to know the name of the man who is helping me. It is the least I could ask.”

The hick tries not to snort back at her words. He wasn’t really helping her much. Hell, all he did was keep his mouth shut, which she couldn’t seem to do. The words did however make him shift uncomfortably. He never was good with being thanked for what he did. Most of the time, he was cursed at or told to rot in hell for what he did. Not that he didn’t disagree with them.

After five minutes of silence, he lets out a sigh. “Daryl.” 

The woman’s head snaps in in surprise having not expected the response. “Well then Daryl, I thank you. Not many people would do what you are doing.” 

“I ain’t doin’ nothin’.” He shrugs his shoulders, waving off whatever thanks the woman could give him.

“No, you are doing a lot. I don’t think you understand how much this helps.” Carol insists as if He had to know.

Daryl shakes his head, “Stop yammerin’! I said I ain’t doi-“

A call rang out through the house, making Daryl stiffen quickly. A warning to all the others, Daryl give the woman one more dry look before jumping up. He grasps onto his bow and slams the door open. He rushes down the stairs, holding his weapon up ready to attack. 

A shot sounds out to one side of the house making Daryl turn towards it. His eyes narrowing as he takes careful steps towards the group outside. He only freezes when he feels a gun to the back of his head. 

“Lower your weapon.” The voice was rough and dark. It was the sound of someone who was full of power and control. The individual must have learned a lot over the years to sneak up on Daryl. He had been silent enough to get past Daryl’s hearing. His gaze heated as he lowers the weapon slowly to the ground. He tries to come up with a way to use his knife against him. 

There was an audible click of the safety of the gun. A threat in and of it’s own. “If you so much as think of turning around, you will get a bullet in your head.” The man commands calmly, yet cold as ice. “I am looking for a woman. What did you do to her?” 

“I don’ know nothin’ about a woman.” Daryl states back, his own voice showing no form of concern. The gun pushes harder against his head. “Maybe she is dead.” He deliberately pushes the man back. “That is where most o’ them end up.” 

The man didn’t seem to like that response, already about to push the trigger on his gun. Daryl wouldn’t have expected to go out this way, but it wasn’t the worst. He still hadn’t found Merle however. The idiot had probably gotten himself killed anyways.

“Rick, don’t!” Carol’s voice echoes down the stairs as she rushes down them. The pressure that had been placed on the trigger quickly released.  
“Carol, where the hell were you.” The man questions, Daryl can tell he is glancing between the two of them. 

“I was going to go back to the trucks, but I got caught upstairs when they came in.” Carol explains quickly, pushing the gun away from Daryl’s head. It was, however placed back there just as soon. “I would have been caught if it wasn’t for Daryl here.”

“And who the hell is he?” The words are gruff and slightly confused.

Daryl bites the inside of cheek, “Yer friendly neighborhood Spiderman.” He knows the taunt would just agrivate the man further.

“Shut up. I didn’t ask you.” The man hisses, pushing the man forward slightly with his gun. “Speak again and I won’t hesitate.”

“Rick, we don’t have time for this we have to go before –“

Just as the words were spoken a loud call from outside is heard. The other Claimers making their way to re-enter the home.

“We need to leave now.” Carol states as he begins to pull the man… Rick, away. The gun finally away from Daryl’s head. Without waiting to see what would happen he uses his quick reflexes to grasp onto his crossbow. He turns aiming it right at the two. The man seems to have the same idea, his gun aimed perfectly still even as he walks towards the back door of the home. 

Daryl rests his finger on the trigger. Instead of taking the shot, he just looks right at the man. The man appeared to have grown weary with the past year. A rough, gray beard adoring the individual’s face. Daryl would have pulled the trigger if not for the look in the man’s eyes. It wasn’t the same as the other’s who survive. The light blue eyes showing intelligence and drive, reminding Daryl of Joe’s own hazel colored ones. He had a dark edge, ready to do what was necessary. 

This man was a leader. Daryl would already tell. He should have taken the shot then and there, only he couldn’t. The look made the bowman shiver in suppression. He knew if he were that man’s enemy, he wouldn’t last long at all. Daryl’s eyes never leave the gun wielder until they turn off out of the home.

A door slamming open finally brought Daryl out of his daze. His body snapping into motion before he had time to process who had opened the door. Joe enters, his face dark with anger.

“How dare that man.” He growls out gruffly. Daryl had never seen the man act in such a way. It makes Daryl cringe as he was reminded of how his own father spoke. “Were packing up boys.” He calls out behind him, the others already entering the home. “Were goin’ huntin’.”

Daryl relaxes finally, turning his bow down. “What the hell was that? Ya tryin’ to bring a herd to us?” He questions, noticing the lack of one member of their group. “An’ we ain’t leavin’ without Lou. The crack head is part o’ us.” 

“Lou won’t me joining us any longer.” Joe speaks up again, “Some son of a bitch killed him. Murdered him. You are right Daryl, we take care of our own. We won’t stand for that.” The leader of their group spoke with distain. “Tony managed to catch a glimpse of the bastard. We have to follow whatever trial they leave.”

Daryl can’t help but look through the back door where the two people had left through. He had managed to save the woman, but now they were going to hunt them down? He couldn’t help but feel a small tinge of concern. He hadn’t felt such a thing since joining the small group.

“Hurry it up, Daryl. Don’t make us wait.” Len was already done packing all his stuff, and just trying to annoy the bowman. 

Daryl glares at him before turning up the stairs, to go grab his stuff. He could maybe help get the group off Carol’s and… Rick’s tracks.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another lovely chapter done and over with~! I already have all the chapters planned out, but hopefully I don't try and put to much in one. I had fun with this chapter. The next one will also be fun to write~!  
> Song for this chapter: "Iron" by Woodkid


	4. I See The Wires Pulling

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He could already hear the others complain about not having found the man yet. He doesn’t comment on the groans of the man getting away, standing up stiffly and moving forward. “Quit yer whining—tha’ ain’t gonna do shit.” He mutters under his breath, shifting his crossbow.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> NOT DEAD STILL. SEE. I DO STUFF. This chapter was just ughhh. Did not want to get written. I swear I am gonna continue to do this one. Just give me a bit of time~

Daryl lets out a low breath of relief when he sees the tracks of a car leading off. It seemed as though the Carol and the other male were able to get away from them. It was strange rooting for someone who wasn’t in there group, yet it as uplifting at the same time. 

“There has ta be a ‘way to track ‘em.” Len says, looking beyond pissed about the idea of not being able to.

“Unless ya can track on cement, it ain’t happenin’.” Daryl scoffs back, glaring at the other male. “I ain’t to fuckin’ happy ‘bout this neither.” He lies through his teeth. He knows if Joe or the others find out, he would be dead before morning. Yet, he still continues on with the endeavor of trying to save some woman. “There is a town jus’ north o’ here if ya wanna go look there.” He suggests, if the veering of the tire tracks were any indication, they went in the opposite direction from where he had given then them.

Joe looks at the hunter and back to the group. “We aren’t gonna let that son of a bitch get away. The town is our best bet right now.” He agrees to follow through. Daryl’s shoulders relax at the words. He gives a stiff nod before moving towards the town.

He could already hear the others complain about not having found the man yet. He doesn’t comment on the groans of the man getting away, standing up stiffly and moving forward. “Quit yer whining—tha’ ain’t gonna do shit.” He mutters under his breath, shifting his crossbow. 

He stays silent as they wander forward towards the town. He can feel Joe staring into his back with piqued interest, knowing something was going on with him. Daryl knows the man is the best as telling the difference. 

Harley walks up to the man, grinning to him. “What are you gonna do when we find ‘em? I swear to gut them.” A scoff forms on Daryl’s lips, glaring to the man. 

Trying to hold back his annoyance, he shakes his head. “Ya need ta come up with somethin’ better ‘an that.” He tells the man, walking a bit quicker. Harley always attempted to bring him into the group with Joe. Most of the time, he stood on the outside letting them do what they want. “Either way—ain’t happenin’ if we don’ find ‘em.” 

With that he leaves the man behind him, already walking ahead. It doesn’t take much time for them to hit the town. Daryl already raises his bow, ready for anything to come their way. “We ain’t gonna be able to find ‘em if they hear us.” He murmurs to the others, looking around to the homes. 

Joe glances up and nods his head. “We are splitin’ up. Daryl you take the furthest house. Tony—Len, left side. Dan and Harley go the right. Billy yer with me.” He motions the group forward, pulling out his own gun.

Daryl doesn’t wait for any response, taking initiative to take the building at the furthest end. He moves his feet swiftly across the ground, keeping his movements quiet. Kicking the first door open, he keeps his bow raised, ears listening for anything out of the ordinary. Taking a moment he shuffles to the next room only to hear a gun going off, head snapping to the direction. 

Taking no time, he pushes the door open, seeing a small group trapped in a car only a few feet away. Glancing over his shoulder, a curse leaves him. Now was the time to decide to help the strangers and likely get caught by Joe and the group, or just stay out of it. 

“Damn it--.” He really did hate himself sometimes. Crossbow loaded, he releases an arrow into one of the walkers that get to close. The bow no longer loaded, he reaches down and grasps his knife. “Get the fuck out o’ here.” He yells out, making more noise to draw the walkers away.

The dead now change their focus to the bowman, making him take a step back. Taking in his options, Daryl jumps up to a car beside the opening, making as much noise as he moves. If he is going to end up dead, might as well make it worthwhile. “Over here--.” He calls out, knife entering one of the walker’s heads.

The man in the car looks over at him in shock, already starting to drive. Letting out a sigh of relief, he turns the corner of the home, only to find a large mob of walkers on his tail. Taking a deep breath he begins to run, crossbow over his shoulder. Taking another sharp turn he ends up at a dead end, a wood wall in the way. Glancing around, he feels cornered for once.

Taking a glance back to the walkers closing in, his shoulders sag. “Least those idiots got ‘way.” He mutters under his breath, taking a step forward. Without warning, the wall behind him crashes down. The car the group had left in now allowing him a way out. Reacting before thinking, he moves to jump into the car, slamming the door shut before the driver leaves. 

Keeping his eyes peeled behind them, he makes sure they get away. The walkers no longer able to follow them as they drive away. Breathe coming out raggedly, he turns to look at the group who saved him.

His eyes land on the driver—an Asian man around mid-twenties. “Pretty good drivin’ there Chinaman.” He comments, looking through the others. A woman is in the driver’s seat and a black male to his right. 

“Wouldn’t have had a chance if it weren’t for you.” The Asian spoke up, looking at him through the review mirror. “Thanks for the help. Thought you might like it in return.”  
Daryl gives the man a nod in response, glancing over his shoulder once more. With the amount of noise he had created, Joe and the others would have left more than likely. “Ya got a name?” He mutters under his breath.

“Glenn is driving. I’m Maggie, that’s Bob.” The auburn haired woman speaks up, making Daryl turn to look her over.

Shifting his crossbow, he eyes the three warily still not knowing how much he can trust them. They may have saved his life, but that didn’t mean they weren’t out to get something in return. Looking out the window, he shifts his shoulders in acknowledgement. “Daryl.” He answers back.

Maggie glances over at Glenn, “We—have some questions.” She speaks up, eyes looking hesitant. The man next to him appears to look at her in understanding. “Just to make sure… How man walkers have you killed?” 

The question throws him off, furrowing his eyebrows together in thought. He hadn’t been keeping count from the beginning. “I don’ know anymore.” He answers honestly, a frown on his lips. “Lost count.” The woman seems to take it into consideration before nodding. “How many people have you killed?”

That makes the man stiffen, eyes looking down at his hands. Biting down on the inside of his cheek he debates on answering honestly. He can still remember every person that he had killed in his hands. More than he would like to say. Taking in a deep breath he glances out the window. “40.” 

The look of shock and horror appears on the auburn haired woman’s face at his response. Her gaze turns back to Glenn’s, not knowing if she would need to continue.  
It is the man next to him, Bob—that speaks up next. “Why?” He sounds curious but also hesitant. The bowman could understand the man’s words. It wasn’t something he was proud of—he didn’t like keeping track. Yet every time he wanted to forget, he would remember Sophia’s small blue eyes.

“Better ‘an what their other option was.” He mumbles under his breath, bringing a hand up to his lip as he bites down on his nail. The nervous habit hard to break under stress. “It was either tha’ or--.” He cuts himself off, shaking his head. “They were better off tha’ way.” He mumbles, shrugging his shoulders now.

The woman leans over to the Asian again, whispering quietly. Eyes looking over the man, she pauses. “We—We accept your answers, however we are meeting with another group. He—He is someone who will know what to do. He can decide if you are allowed to come back with us to camp.”

This gets a raised eyebrow from Daryl, a bit interested in this man now. He knew he was a strange case for them. Most people didn’t have such a high number of deaths on their hands. Instead of responding, he nods his head, eyes glued to the window.

The car ride was silent excluding a few attempts from Glenn to get the man talking. Keeping an eye out, he stays silent, ignoring the questions about who he was. It doesn’t take but a moment for them to park to the side. Another car appears to be waiting for their return. Glenn jumps out of the car, rushing forward to probably talk with the man in question.

Daryl is curious, yet holds it back opening his car door. Maggie bounds after Glenn, keeping Daryl and Bob off to the side. Stepping out, he pulls out a pack of cigarettes he had found before running into the group, lighting one of them and taking a drag.

“I understand you know--.” Bob speaks up. “This world is harsh. But how--.” He pauses, thinking he was over stepping his bounds. His eyes stay on the man, a small smile playing on his lips. “I won’t judge you—Some people here, they don’t understand at times.”

Taking another drag, he puffs out some smoke nodding his head. “I did what I had ta with the cards I was dealt. Don’ need ya badgerin’ me.” He grumbles, pulling away from the man. Crossing his arms over his chest, he leans up against the car keeping his eyes out in the distance.

“I get that. I think they will welcome you either way. They did it for me.” Bob smiles to him, acting very hopeful for this group. It makes Daryl snort loudly at the words. The likelihood that this group stays alive accepting so many people is slim to none. Just as he was about to argue with the man, Glenn comes back over.

“Come on. We have a few questions.” Glenn motions the man to follow him, nodding his head. “It shouldn’t be too hard for you.”

Daryl sighs, throwing his cigarette onto the ground and putting it out. Following the other man behind the car, he pauses when he sees curly gray hair—a not forming in his gut. This might end up being a lot worse than he first suspected.

The man—Rick if he was correct recognizes him immediately. For the second time in 2 days—he gets a gun shoved into his face.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Welp. There you have it. Not my best work BUT FINALLY FINISHED. Next chapter will be much better.


	5. Everyone Owns A Gun

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “You are lucky you aren’t dead yet.” Rick seethes, glaring at the other members of the group, as if they were to blame for bringing him here.
> 
> RATING: THERE WILL BE TRIGGERS IN THIS STORY. THIS INCLUDES MENTIONS OF RAPE, BLOOD, AND POSSIBLY MORE.
> 
> PAIRING: Daryl/Rick
> 
> SETTING: This will take place AFTER season 3 but BEFORE season 4b.
> 
> SUMMARY: Daryl had lost his brother in Atlanta. In an attempt to find him he joins a group that call themselves 'The Claimers'. At first he is hesitant to go along with there ways, but in the end decides it is the only way to survive. The apocalypse does bring out the worst in people after all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sooo. This chapter. A lot easier to write then the last one. Hahaha. *still awful at writing action*  
> So glad this one is up! Hope you all enjoy~

Daryl stares at the barrel of the gun, before meeting the man’s eyes. A small grin forms on his lips, using Merle’s teachings to move forward. “Wha’ ya gonna do? Shoot me?” The question is more of a taunt then anything. On the inside Daryl was thinking of a way out of the situation—heart hammering against his chest. He can’t help but glance behind the man to see if the woman had gotten away.

“You are lucky you aren’t dead yet.” Rick seethes, glaring at the other members of the group, as if they were to blame for bringing him here.

Glenn’s expression changes to one of shock before moving forward. Stepping between Daryl and the colt pointed at him. “Rick—wait.” The Asian man spoke up, making Daryl raise an eyebrow. That was the second time someone got in front of him. He really didn’t know if he wanted to make a habit of it. “He helped us get away from a hoard. If he hadn’t shown up, who knows what could have happened.”

“This man almost got Carol killed.” Rick snaps, motioning for Glenn to step out of the way. 

Daryl notices the gray haired women, letting out a sigh of relief before focusing back on Rick. “Didn’ need my help ta be put in danger.” He grumbles under his breath, causing Rick to growl out in anger. “Get out o’ his way Chinaman—if he is gonna shoot, he needs an easier target.” 

Glenn looks up as if he had been physically wounded, shaking his head. “No. He saved us. I don’t know what happened with Carol—“

“He helped me.” Carol pipes up, walking forward. “Told me to stay hidden until morning when his group came in.” She eyes Rick and him warily, her gaze flickering between the two of them. “There is no need to keep the gun on him, Rick. He has proven that he isn’t going to get us killed.”

“We don’t know that.” Rick hasn’t allowed his gaze to leave the other man, his head tilting to the side. “He could be working with those men. It could all be a trap.” He holds his gun trained on the man—his eyes as cold as steel as the watch the man.

Daryl couldn’t help but be slightly entranced by the gaze. It was as if the man was reading him from inside out. Staying silent for once he lifts his hands, grasping onto his crossbow’s strap and leaning it off his shoulder before placing it on the ground. Keeping one of his hands up, he pulls out his knife and throws it to the ground with his crossbow. He knew if he kept aggravating the man, it would not end well for him. “I ain’t tryin’ nothin’.” 

Pausing he keeps both hands up, motioning the man to pat him down if he needed. “Jus’ kept gettin’ in a situation tha’ I decided ta take control o’.” He explains, tone rough as it leaves his throat. “I don’ even know where my group is now. Told ‘em they were gonna end up screwin’ each other over eventually.”

“Is that what ya are planning?” Rick questions, eyebrows furrowing together before reaching out. He begins to pat the man down for weapons. “Using us ‘til we aren’t needed?” His words critical and calculated, as he moves back. 

Daryl stares at the man long and hard, debating on even answering the question at all. He knew it was hard to join a group, let alone a tight nit one like this. “I don’ need ta use anyone. If I wanted to—I could make it on my own. Don’ need ya idiots draggin’ me down.” A scoff appears on his lips, moving his arms down after the man is done checking him over.

“Then why don’t you get the hell out of here—If you are so confident.” Rick asks, pulling his crossbow over his shoulder, then grasping his knife and handing it to Carol. “That group you were with—They didn’ seem very friendly.” He pushes his colt back into it’s holster, hard gaze still focusing in on Daryl. The bowman was feeling uncomfortable with all the attention being placed on him now.

Taking in a deep breath, Daryl shrugs his shoulders. “I didn’ get no golden boy ta show me the way. Ya sayin’ I am shit jus’ cause I did what I had ta to stay alive?” His tone getting hard, crossing his arms over his chest. He was starting to feel bare without his weapons. “I’ll tell ya this now—Everyone has done somethin’ horrible.” He doesn’t allow any emotion in his voice as he spoke. “It’s a matter o’ if ya are man ‘nough to admit it.”

Silence moves through the group, everyone glancing between Rick and Daryl. After a moment, Glenn moves forward, grasping Rick and pulling him back. He watches them move forward, Maggie trailing after a few feet. Bob pats Daryl on the back before walking to follow the group. 

Carol stays where she is, shaking her head. “Don’t take what Rick says personally. He just wants what is best for the group. You—It takes a lot for him to trust.” She pauses, bringing a hand out to grasp his arm. “We might not accept you at first, but give everyone some time. I am sure we will get Rick to let you come.” 

That makes Daryl furrow his eyebrows together, a bit confused by her words. “Wha’ makes ya think I wanna come with ya? I don’ need a shitty group.”

Pulling back, Carol shakes her head. “Yes you do--.” She gives him a smile, arms crossing over her shoulder. “That is why you stayed with them right—You knew.” She looks at Rick whisper furiously to the others. “In this world, you can’t make it alone.”

Back stiffening, Daryl’s expression goes blank. He bites down hard on the inside of his cheek, eyes glancing away from her. He doesn’t respond, hearing the woman’s footsteps walk away from him. Not able to leave without his weapons, he stands shifting on his feet. Suddenly not knowing what to do if he were to leave.

If he went back to the Claimers, they would question where he went. As much as he had been lying lately, he couldn’t keep that up. They would want to know—and Daryl isn’t sure he could give it to them. He could leave on his own again—yet Carol hadn’t been wrong. Being alone was a death sentence in this world. He wouldn’t make it long with no one to help him. That left one other option—following them. The leader, Rick, would probably refuse any requests of him coming along. The thoughts go through his head, as he shifts from foot to foot.

Bringing a hand to his lips, he bites down hard on his nail. He was fucked no matter what he decided. A low curse leaves him, making him rip at his nail even harder. He could already hear Merle yelling at him in the back of his head. The elder would have never let him live this down. The group he had been with was wrong—they did things that made him cringe, but he was safe. They wouldn’t murder him in his sleep. This group—he knew nothing about them. They seemed like normal—normal for this world. That didn’t mean they were. 

“Hey—You listenin’?” A voice breaks him out of his thoughts, making his head snap to look at the man. Rick stands there, one hand resting on his gun. The others are a few feet away, watching the interaction closely. The tone the man used made Daryl stiffen, back arching at the words.

“What?” He grumbles, eyes focusing in on the man. Now that he had a good look at him without a gun in his face he noticed small details. The dark circles under his eyes—possibly from leading the group and keeping them alive. The unruly hair that moves in different directions didn’t look as clean as it should. A bit of stumble on the man’s chin showing his lack of a razor. His stance is calm and collected instead the angered expression moments prior.

A brief look of annoyance appeared on his face before it disappears. “I was sayin’ we came up with an agreement.” Rick speaks up, looking over his shoulder at his fellow group. “We will give you the option to come back with us—however,” Daryl knew that this was going to be a double edge sword. “You have to wear cuffs when we get there.” He pauses, “Not only that but you are to be locked up at night until you are trustworthy enough to let out.” 

Daryl blinks surprised by the way the man seemed to change sides. The blue eyes still staring at him with the same intensity as before, yet his expression toned down. “Are ya fuckin’ with me?” He blurts out after a moment, not thinking.

It was Rick who raises an eyebrow this time, his expression different then it had been before. “If I was—it ain’t a good joke.” His hand grips the colt a bit tighter. “It is your decision. If I do learn you betray us…” Rick’s eyes get a dark tint to them, making Daryl shiver. “Your group will be the least of your concerns.” 

The bowman shifts back a step, taking the man’s words into consideration. It was better than ending up dead by the walkers—or running into his old group again. “Alright. He lifts his hands up, “But—is we are caught with a group o’ the dead, I wanna be able ta get out o’ my room.”

“Not happening. I will hold onto the keys. If anything happens, I’ll let you out. That is the deal.” Rick states once more, tone hard in conviction. 

Eyes flicker to the group behind the man, before letting out a sigh. “I’ll agree ta tha’. Ain’t go nowhere else ta go.” He grumbles, “Can I have my crossbow back?” He asks, feeling naked without the extra weight on his back.

Rick seems to think a moment, before pulling the knife out of his pocket. “No crossbow—but I don’t need ya completely empty handed.” He agrees, putting the knife back in Daryl’s hand. Daryl’s hand wraps around the hilt as Rick grasp onto his wrist. “You try anythin’--.” He has a warning in his tone making Daryl nod.

“Where we goin’ anyways? None o’ the places nearby are empty o’ walkers.” He states, already having scavenged with the Claimers not to long ago.

Rick gives the man a wolfish grin. “We are goin’ to prison.”


	6. Light Up The Dark

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Today he was guessing wouldn’t be any different. He would be forced into helping possibly Bob for some reason. They felt he needed to blend into the crowd—or something stupid like that. Shifting on his cot, he glances out of the cell. He really wanted out of this place. He was getting stir crazy not having the feeling of dirt beneath his finger nails—the smell of trees—the weight of his crossbow over his shoulder. He missed hunting.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay-- this chapter really wanted to be written apparently. Because holy shit I couldn't stop.
> 
> RATING: THERE WILL BE TRIGGERS IN THIS STORY. THIS INCLUDES MENTIONS OF RAPE, BLOOD, AND POSSIBLY MORE.
> 
> PAIRING: Daryl/Rick
> 
> SETTING: This will take place AFTER season 3 but BEFORE season 4b.
> 
> SUMMARY: Daryl had lost his brother in Atlanta. In an attempt to find him he joins a group that call themselves 'The Claimers'. At first he is hesitant to go along with there ways, but in the end decides it is the only way to survive. The apocalypse does bring out the worst in people after all.

Daryl was getting antsy. Ever since he joined the group inside the prison, there had been two different reactions. Some stare at him with distrust and confusion, the others came up to him as if they didn’t hear the rumors surrounding him. It was obvious that people still were wary of the man who spent more time in a prison cell, locked up then helping others.  
  
The few exceptions were a few exceptions like Carol, Glenn and Maggie. They both didn’t even appear to care about his past involvements. It makes the bowman annoyed—they had seen the group he was with. They should be concerned about what kind of man he was. They tended to pull him along to help them along the prison. Carol would ask him for help cleaning or with the water. Glenn requests his help in the watchtower—which mostly was him sitting there with no gun while Glenn talked his ear off. Maggie always sat by him during meals—asking him questions that he would ignore. It felt uncomfortable to talk about anything.

Today he was guessing wouldn’t be any different. He would be forced into helping possibly Bob for some reason. They felt he needed to blend into the crowd—or something stupid like that. Shifting on his cot, he glances out of the cell. He really wanted out of this place. He was getting stir crazy not having the feeling of dirt beneath his finger nails—the smell of trees—the weight of his crossbow over his shoulder. He missed hunting.

Leaning back against the wall, he takes in a deep breath. Bringing his nail up to his lip, he bites down on it. The longer he stays in this prison, the more he was losing his mind. Hearing feet moving towards his cell, he glances over to the entrance. A flicker of surprise appears on his face when it wasn’t Bob or Carol—instead he meets the blue eyes that he had been entranced by only days earlier. The scruffy man was wearing a light jacket, Daryl’s crossbow over his shoulder. The bowman can’t help but look at the item with a bit of longing.

Taking a moment to regain his composure he quirks an eyebrow towards Rick. The leader hadn’t spoken to him since their exchange. Even in the car drive back to the prison—he barely spoke a word. Rick hadn’t taken his eyes off the man, hand resting on his gun for the entire trip. Daryl couldn’t help but feel impressed. While this entire group accepted him with ease—Rick looks at him like he was going to shoot him in the back after a second. That is how people needed to react to his presence. It had relaxed the man more than it should have.

“Get up.” The tone is less than inviting, but didn’t have the cold tone from before. The keys to the cell already unlock the door. It takes only a moment before Daryl is on his feet following behind the man. Rick’s voice was something Daryl couldn’t help but follow—the commanding tone forcing him to listen at first. Now—Daryl didn’t mind the words that left the man.

“Wha’ ya kickin’ me out already?” Daryl asks, a hint of worry on his face. “An’ here I was gettin’ along with everyone.” He tries to keep his tone light—remembering Glenn’s response to his sarcasm.

Rick only quirks an eyebrow at him, before motioning him to follow. Daryl doesn’t speak up again, taking a few steps behind the other male. Eyes stay glued to the back of Rick’s head, trying to figure out the puzzle of the man. Moving down the stairs, Rick motions for Daryl to pause. “Wait here.” 

Without waiting for a response, the man walks away—stopping only to talk to a teen. Their voices are in hushed whispers, the teen glances Daryl with suspicion. Even being near any type of child makes Daryl shift with discomfort—more-so from the reaction he was used to having with kids in his line of vision with the Claimers.

He sees a small nod from the teen to Rick before the man comes back over. “This way.” Rick tells him, still giving him little to go off of. It was driving the bowman into a frenzy. He doesn’t speak up again as they make their way out of the prison—towards the fences. Daryl glances over towards the small farm they had created, a hint of interest in his expression. He had noticed Rick coming out here to farm from time to time—yet he never was allowed in the area. It seemed like it was Rick area to relax.

Taking a step forward on the gravel instead of cement makes Daryl let out a low breath of relief. Even if it wasn’t dirt—it was nice to be out of the cement walls. Taking a glance back towards Rick, he notices the quirk in the man’s eyebrow. Shrugging his shoulders, he gives a small twitch of his lips into a grin.

Rick walks out towards the exit of the prison, pausing when he motions them to open the gates. “You need out of here don’t you?” The question surprises Daryl more than anything. The other hadn’t appeared to notice the tension in his shoulders. “That is why you are gettin’ fidgety.” This time it wasn’t a question, but a confirmation.

Daryl gives a small nod, shifting on his feet. Most of the walkers around the area still focused on the groups on the side. “We are driving out around 10 minutes away from here.” Rick explains after a moment. “I will only give you your bow once we are far enough away.” He picks up the key for one of the vehicles they have lined up, motioning Daryl to enter. “We don’t have all day.”

Without waiting for a response, Rick enters the driver’s seat. Daryl doesn’t wait for a response, getting in the car as the man begins driving out of the safety of their home. Rick stays silent as they drive—Daryl looks out the window, still trying to figure out the man’s angle for bringing him out here.

After only a minute or two of silence Rick speaks up, “You hunt.” Again—not a question, but a confirmation. “We don’t have any hunters, but we had a group of people spot a few bucks near here.” He explains, glancing over to the man. “If you are good at what you do—We can at least find somethin’ out here.” 

Daryl understands the man’s words suddenly—hunting. The nervousness the man felt before changing into a bemused feeling. The idea of hunting makes Daryl smile softly under his lips. He doesn’t even notice Rick’s gaze on him, a hint of confusion flickering on the other man’s expression. 

“You up for it?” Rick asks breaking Daryl out of his thoughts. “Because we can always turn back.”

“No—I… I am good with huntin’.” Daryl nods his head, glad Rick had even considered brining him along. “I get my crossbow ‘an?” He questions, eyes flicker with joy.

Rick’s head nods slowly, pulling the car over. “The deer was spotted near here. It was a day or so ago—hopefully you can pick up the trail.” He opens the door getting out. Daryl doesn’t take another second to follow after him.

Pulling the crossbow over his shoulder and to the other man, he eyes him warily. “the moment you turn that on me, I won’t hesitate to shoot you down.” The threat no longer holds that cold edge he had when they first met.

Daryl doesn’t need to hear the rest, already grasping the bow. His fingers run along the stock, shoulders relaxing after receiving the weapon. A small smirk forms on his lips. He moves towards the woods, not even looking to see if the man is following behind him. His eyes look along the forest floor, looking for any sign of movement. His feet move lightly through the brush, ignoring the light crunching noises of feet behind him. 

It doesn’t take him long before he finds the trail—his eyes looking at the broken branches made by something that had more precision then that of a walker. He does notices a small flicker out of the corner of his eye, putting a hand up to stop the man behind him. A squirrel appears moment later along the tree. Lips still curved into a small grin he aims, taking his shot. He releases the breath he was holding, walking up towards the creature he shot dead on. 

“Ya got a bag?” He asks, finally turning to look at the man. Rick’s expression was no longer resigned; instead interest appears in those blue eyes. This make’s Daryl’s own lips frown, “Wha’? We migh’ not be able ta get the buck. Ain’t no reason ta leave good meat lyin’ ‘round.” He pulls the squirrel off the arrow, pushing it towards the man. Bringing his read cloth up, he cleans the arrow and reloads it into his bow. 

Rick’s eyes staying focused on him, “That—Was a nice shot.” The leader explains, a raised brow on his face. 

Daryl can’t help but give him a large grin at the compliment. The bowman might be shit at a lot of things, but hunting wasn’t one of them. “Don’ got much else ta be good at.” He explains, eyes already moving along the ground as he kneels in one spot. 

“You always been good at this?” Rick questions, still appearing interested in the man. 

“No—ya keep talkin’ an’ we won’t be findin’ nothin’ else.” He informs the ex-cop, leaning on his crossbow as he studies the ground. 

After the comment, Rick goes silent again. The bowman doesn’t know how much time passes after that. All he remembers is the smell of nature and the dirt under his nails. He shoots a few more rodents here and there.

“It is going to get dark soon--.” Rick speaks up after hours of tracking. Daryl pauses in his movements, glancing over his shoulder. “We either have to make camp or head back.”  
The bowman blinks a few times realizing that he might be stuck with the man or awhile. “The tracks are gettin’ more pronounced. We aint’ tha’ far off.” He explains after a second, shifting on his feet. “We—We almost got it.”

Rick studies the male’s expression before nodding. “We will camp for tonight. If we don’t find it by midday tomorrow—we turn back.” 

The bowman suddenly feels out of place again. The other man is his only company—and they did not start off on good terms. He didn’t know anything about the other—he was pretty sure Carol and the others told Rick everything they could about him. It made him feel out of place. 

Finding a good place to camp wasn’t too hard. Daryl wastes no time setting up a small camp fire, grabbing two of the rodents they caught and cooking them up. Staring at the fire, he glances up at the other man from time to time.

For once, Daryl wanted to fill the silence with something. “Ya—The others trust ya.” 

Rick appears to glance up at him and nods his head. “We have been through enough together. When you join our group… you become family.”

Daryl furrows his eyebrows bringing his knees up towards his chest. “Sounds like somethin’ else.” He couldn’t imagine it. Merle was the only person in his entire family that cared about him. Still—it was different for the group. He knew that much by the way they looked at each other.

“We just work together.” Rick adds on, shifting back as he glances around the camp. “I am sure you had the same with your group.”

That causes Daryl to flinch back, his hand moving up to his lips. He ignores the sting he is feeling in his chest. “They—We ain’t like that. We had a system.” That is all he can explain.

“What ‘bout you?” Rick questions, “Your… group. What was your system?”

Daryl stiffens now, suddenly wanting to hide away. He didn’t know what to do in response. “I didn’—I had ta find a way ta survive.” Was all he managed, disappointment in his own actions fills him with regret. His eyes flicker to the ground at his words. “Claim what was yours an’ tha’ is how it went.” He doesn’t want to tell him it really meant you could claim everything. “They have their rules. Best I got in this world.”

Rick stays silent for a moment, as if taking in what Daryl says. “I might have been wrong about you, Daryl.” It is the first time Rick calls the man by his name. “I don’t trust you—but you don’t seem like a bad man.”

It feels like a punch in the gut for Daryl. Instead of saying anything, he lifts his shoulders in a shrug. He hates how wrong the man is. “Ya goin’ ta take first watch or do ya want me too?” He changes the subject before he can ask any more questions. 

A thoughtful expression filters onto Rick’s expression but he doesn’t push it. “I’ll take first watch.” He responds back.

Daryl can only give him a nod. After another few minutes of silence, a small grin forms again, "Ya were wrong-- We did have all day."

It gets him a low chuckle and grin in return.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you all like this one. It is very descriptive-- to be fair, Daryl and Rick ain't gonna be talking to much at first.


	7. Hope For Morning

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Woulda questioned ya more if ya hadn't put a gun in my face." The words are muttered under his breath before he lets out a sigh. "Ya aren't gonna, are ya?"
> 
> Rick blinks a few times at the strange question before shaking his head. "Don' plan to, no."
> 
> Another shrug makes it's way on the bowman before his fingers start to pick at the small branches around him. "Than ya ain't."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> OKAY. ANOTHER FEW MONTHS AND ANOTHER CHAPTER. I just idk man.
> 
> RATING: THERE WILL BE TRIGGERS IN THIS STORY. THIS INCLUDES MENTIONS OF RAPE, BLOOD, AND POSSIBLY MORE.
> 
> PAIRING: Daryl/Rick
> 
> SETTING: This will take place AFTER season 3 but BEFORE season 4b.
> 
> SUMMARY: Daryl had lost his brother in Atlanta. In an attempt to find him he joins a group that call themselves 'The Claimers'. At first he is hesitant to go along with their ways, but in the end decides it is the only way to survive. The apocalypse does bring out the worst in people after all.

Daryl couldn't sleep. Having the focused attention of the other male's gaze had made the bowman restless, giving him little to no sleeping. After an hour of trying Daryl had sat up, looking at the other man. 

A startled look morphs onto Rick's face before he quirked an eyebrow. "Can't sleep?" The words are blaring compared to the stillness around them. 

Daryl gives Rick a look of hesitation, then a weak shrug showing the man his answer. "Use ta loud mouths never shuttin' their mouth." He tries to play it down, turning to move up against a tree. 

Feeling the gaze move up and down along his side, Daryl keeps his attention on the world around them. "You don't have to lie. I get it." Rick states after a moment of silence. "I wouldn't trust me either."

"Ain't tha'." Daryl mutters under his breath. 

Keeping his eyebrow raised, Rick crosses his arms over his chest. "What do you mean? I put a gun in your face-- twice. Trust isn't so easily earned. For all you know I brought you here to shoot you down."

"Woulda questioned ya more if ya hadn't put a gun in my face." The words are muttered under his breath before he lets out a sigh. "Ya aren't gonna, are ya?"

Rick blinks a few times at the strange question before shaking his head. "Don' plan to, no."

Another shrug makes it's way on the bowman before his fingers start to pick at the small branches around him. "Than ya ain't." 

A frown forms on Rick's face now, confusion shining through his expression. "But how do ya know."

Daryl gives Rick a hesitant grin, "Carol woulda told me. Probably woulda got me out before ya could grab me this mornin'." The grin falls as he fidgets, "I can tell." He keeps his gaze away from Rick. "Been 'round a lot o' bad people lately-- I know the difference now." Taking in a deep breath, "Ya can be ruthless-- but ya won't. Not now."

The bowman hears a sharp intake of breath, have tempted to peek at the other man but refrains. He waits for a response, with no words coming from Rick. Silence passes over them, making Daryl shift with more unease.

Another moment passes-- and Daryl is half tempted to break it himself before he finally gets the nerve to look over at Rick. The man's expression is blank-- his eyes focused on Daryl as if he was a puzzle that needs to be solved. Biting down on his lip, the bowman quickly looks away, unable to keep eye contact for long periods of time. 

"I killed my best friend in a place almost the same this. If you say I am not a bad person, then what would you call that?" The words sound harsh against his own ears. Daryl tries not to cringe at his sudden revelation. 

He shakes his head, "Ain't bad. Tha'... Tha' is jus' survivin' now." He can't imagine what had happened to Rick to make him do such a thing. He knew the kind of people this world created. "Killin' isn't always the worst thing tha' ya can do now." Without waiting for a response, he pushed himself off the ground, turning towards the way out of camp. "I'm gonna go take a piss," He mutters under his breath-- showing the man he was done with the conversation. He grabs his crossbow as he walks, shifting it onto his shoulders.

Daryl doesn't stop until he is far enough away from Rick that he lets out a low breath. Clenching his fists, he leans up against a tree. The conversation had sparked a few bad memories of the archer's own. Yet, Rick had a point. The bowman didn't know him-- he didn't know what he did. How he survived. Just like they didn't know what he did. 

He closes his eyes, ignoring the sudden barage of people he had killed. The number should have been too large, even in this world. Since joining the group at the prison he had started to think that maybe he could live there. Take a break for once-- but he knows that was a lie. Every person who survived this mess had to have done something.

He could leave. The redneck knew if he wanted to leave the prison, now would be the time. With his crossbow in hand-- Rick hadn't stopped him. He knew enough about people that the prison wouldn't last. The Claimers had killed groups like this multiple times. It couldn't be long before the system they had set up would fall. 

Yet, the archer was hesitant. He could leave, but that would leave Rick's back open. The man-- still guarded, wasn't who Daryl thought he was. Letting out a low curse, Daryl brings his fingers up to his lips and bites down on a fingernail. He wouldn't just be leaving Rick-- the man that was commanding yet had a soft gaze in his eyes from time to time. He reminded him so much of Joe-- but not at the same time. The commanding tone he could use was a quality Daryl couldn't help but follow. It was engraned into him as a child-- enforcing him to follow.

The bowman would also be leaving the others, not just Rick. He doesn't want to admit it, but he would miss the low teases tone Carol would use with him. The way Glenn would beam brightly when Maggie showed up on the night shift, before quickly throwing Daryl out of the tower. Hell-- Maggie's non-stop chatter at dinner was nice enough. It might have been located in a prison, yet he hadn't felt this free the entire time he was with the Claimers.

He couldn't leave. Not now. If the Joe's group did manage to find them-- he feared what they would do. Carol was tough-- but she couldn't stop 4 men. Glenn would die trying to protect Maggie, hell everyone could end up dead. For the first time in a long time-- Daryl didn't want that to happen. He didn't want to see Rick's lifeless body at his feet. The kids... The kids didn't deserve anything the Claimers would do.

Another deep breath leaves Daryl-- his decision already made for him. He turns back, heading back to the tiny camp Rick and he set up. Staying quiet, he takes a seat back where he was, looking back at Rick. The leader wasn't returning his gaze, instead his attention was focused on the sky. 

They stay in silence for what seems like hours before a sigh leaves Rick. "I'm glad." His words are soft, "That you didn't leave."

The words make Daryl stiffen in an instant, hands clenching back into fists. He should have known Rick would have put two and two together. "Don' got nowhere else ta go."

Rick shakes his head before turning to lay down on his side. "That isn't why you stayed." The words are knowing from Rick's lips. "I misjudged you again. It won't happen a third time." 

The bowman can't respond, instead looking out into the woods soaking in the words. He tries not to let himself feel too encouraged by the words-- opting to ignore the sudden swell of comfort they brought.

~~

The ride back had been quiet, the two men never speaking more than a few words since the night before. They had managed to track the deer down-- quickly putting the animal down with one arrow in it's eye. Carrying it back had been a hassle, both men taking turns. 

As they pulled up to the gates of the prison, Daryl does a quick glance over to Rick. "Thank ya--." He grumbles, only so the man could hear. "Fer lettin' me out." 

Rick gives him a small smile and a quick nod. "You are good at hunting. It-- it helps us all that you caught the deer. They will be happy." He manages, as the gates are pulled open and he drives through. He drives up towards the prison, parking off to the side, giving Daryl another long look. "I should be thanking you."

The bowman shrugs, before opening his door and taking a step out. "Next time, try no' ta scare everythin' off with yer loud ass feet." It was a small attempt to fix what had happened, yet still hesitant. "If-- If there is gonna be a next time."

"I wasn't that loud--." The bowman snorts at Rick's words, a roll of his eyes. Rick nods his head after a moment, "How else are we gonna keep everyone fed?"  
Daryl's lip twitches into a grin before moving to get the buck off the car. He begins to cut the ropes off, pulling at the deer. 

"Did you kill it? Wow! I haven't seen that much meat in a long time." A voice stated just to the side making Daryl jump. A teen-- no older than 15 was next to him. Frowning, he glances over to Rick, who appears to be enjoying the sudden interaction. 

"Ya talkin' to me?" Daryl blinks a few times, noticing a few weary eyes, as well as joyful in others. 

The eyes behind the glasses seem to brighten up at the words, "Who else? I'm Patrick. Nice to meet you Mr. Daryl." He puts a hand out-- as if wanting the man to shake it.  
Daryl eyes the teen closely again-- distrust shinning through. Turning back around, he ignores the hand, pulling the deer towards him and off the car. He pulls it long, keeping it on his shoulders as he made his way past the teen. 

"Do you know how to skin it? I wonder what we can do with it. Rabbit stew only gets you so far." Patrick didn't seem to get the hint, following Daryl along as he moves.  
The bowman continues to ignore the teen, placing the deer away from most of the prison's occupants. "Ya think I can hunt an' not skin nothin'? Got 'lot o' nerve sayin' tha' to my face." Daryl snaps back, feeling uncomfortable with the child in general.

"Daryl-- That isn't--." Rick had apparently been following the two, only a few feet behind them. "Do you know what, Patrick-- why don't you go play with Carl." He states suddenly to Patrick. Patrick, looking a bit stricken at the words Daryl had thrown his way, just nods and turns to rush off. 

Daryl doesn't watch as he already starts to carve into the dead animal's hide. "Don' know why tha' kid decided ta question my abilities on huntin'." He mutters, eyebrows furrowed together in concentration. He hears a sigh leave Rick but doesn't say much else. 

"He is just a kid-- And that isn't what he meant." Rick says after a moment, "He was just trying to get to know you. The others have been... curious about you."

Daryl scoffs, body shifting uncomfortably at the notion, "Ain't nothin' ta know. Who cares 'bout me. Jus' brought 'em a buck. Ain't tha' enough?"

Shaking his head, Rick leans back as he watches the other man at work. "You aren't use to it are you? The attention?" The leader doesn't ask it as a question, more as a statement. "You brought 'em a deer. I am thinking a lot of them are gonna start wanting to talk with you." 

"Don' need friends." The bowman mutters, taking off a large flab of fur. "Jus' need a bed ta sleep in an' some food."

"You need friends. That is why you came back." Rick states, eyes gleaming with a bit of humor now. "How 'bout I will take you out huntin' again if you at least talk with 5 people-- excluding the regulars."

It is then Daryl looks back up at Rick, giving him a questioning look. "Why do ya care?"

Rick shrugs, "I was wrong 'bout you. Maybe some of the other people are too." His tone is even and kind. It makes Daryl cringe at the thought of receiving them.

"4 Days. I'll talk to 'em but I wanna go huntin' 'gain in 4 days." Daryl gives him a look of disdain, but agrees to the terms. His expression filters slightly, "An' no kids. I ain't gonna talk to none o' them." His words hardening.

A questioning look forms on Rick's face before nodding. "I am sure Patrick will understand. Its a deal then." A playful smile is given to Daryl. "I'll be keepin' an eye on you-- no backin' down."

A quirky grin lands on Daryl's lips as he nods, "Dixon's never back down."

The smile on Rick's face falls just as quickly as it had been there-- body going slack in an instant. "Dixon-- Is your last name Dixon?"


End file.
